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The Fir Tree

THE
FIR TREE

Out
in the woods stood a nice little Fir Tree. The place he had was a
very
good
one: the sun shone on him: as to fresh air, there was enough of that,
and
round
him grew many large-sized comrades, pines as well as firs. But the
little
Fir wanted so very much to be a grown-up tree.

He
did not think of the warm sun and of the fresh air; he did not care
for the
little
cottage children that ran about and prattled when they were in the
woods
looking for wild-strawberries. The children often came with a whole
pitcher
full of berries, or a long row of them threaded on a straw, and sat
down
near the young tree and said, "Oh, how pretty he is! What a nice
little
fir!"
But this was what the Tree could not bear to hear.

At
the end of a year he had shot up a good deal, and after another year
he was
another
long bit taller; for with fir trees one can always tell by the shoots
how
many years old they are.

"Oh!
Were I but such a high tree as the others are," sighed he. "Then
I should
be
able to spread out my branches, and with the tops to look into the
wide
world!
Then would the birds build nests among my branches: and when there
was
a
breeze, I could bend with as much stateliness as the others!"

Neither
the sunbeams, nor the birds, nor the red clouds which morning and
evening
sailed above him, gave the little Tree any pleasure.

In
winter, when the snow lay glittering on the ground, a hare would
often come
leaping
along, and jump right over the little Tree. Oh, that made him so
angry!
But two winters were past, and in the third the Tree was so large
that
the
hare was obliged to go round it. "To grow and grow, to get older
and be
tall,"
thought the Tree--"that, after all, is the most delightful thing
in the
world!"

In
autumn the wood-cutters always came and felled some of the largest
trees.
This
happened every year; and the young Fir Tree, that had now grown to a
very
comely
size, trembled at the sight; for the magnificent great trees fell to
the
earth with noise and cracking, the branches were lopped off, and the
trees
looked
long and bare; they were hardly to be recognised; and then they were
laid
in carts, and the horses dragged them out of the wood.

Where
did they go to? What became of them?

In
spring, when the swallows and the storks came, the Tree asked them,
"Don't
you
know where they have been taken? Have you not met them anywhere?"

The
swallows did not know anything about it; but the Stork looked musing,
nodded
his head, and said, "Yes; I think I know; I met many ships as I
was
flying
hither from Egypt; on the ships were magnificent masts, and I venture
to
assert that it was they that smelt so of fir. I may congratulate you,
for
they
lifted themselves on high most majestically!"

"Oh,
were I but old enough to fly across the sea! But how does the sea
look in
reality?
What is it like?"

"That
would take a long time to explain," said the Stork, and with
these words
off
he went.

"Rejoice
in thy growth!" said the Sunbeams. "Rejoice in thy vigorous
growth,
and
in the fresh life that moveth within thee!"

And
the Wind kissed the Tree, and the Dew wept tears over him; but the
Fir
understood
it not.

When
Christmas came, quite young trees were cut down: trees which often
were
not
even as large or of the same age as this Fir Tree, who could never
rest,
but
always wanted to be off. These young trees, and they were always the
finest
looking, retained their branches; they were laid on carts, and the
horses
drew them out of the wood.

"Where
are they going to?" asked the Fir. "They are not taller
than I; there
was
one indeed that was considerably shorter; and why do they retain all
their
branches?
Whither are they taken?"

"We
know! We know!" chirped the Sparrows. "We have peeped in at
the windows in
the
town below! We know whither they are taken! The greatest splendor and
the
greatest
magnificence one can imagine await them. We peeped through the
windows,
and saw them planted in the middle of the warm room and ornamented
with
the most splendid things, with gilded apples, with gingerbread, with
toys,
and many hundred lights!"

"I
would fain know if I am destined for so glorious a career,"
cried the Tree,
rejoicing.
"That is still better than to cross the sea! What a longing do I
suffer!
Were Christmas but come! I am now tall, and my branches spread like
the
others that were carried off last year! Oh! were I but already on the
cart!
Were I in the warm room with all the splendor and magnificence! Yes;
then
something better, something still grander, will surely follow, or
wherefore
should they thus ornament me? Something better, something still
grander
must follow--but what? Oh, how I long, how I suffer! I do not know
myself
what is the matter with me!"

"Rejoice
in our presence!" said the Air and the Sunlight. "Rejoice
in thy own
fresh
youth!"

But
the Tree did not rejoice at all; he grew and grew, and was green both
winter
and summer. People that saw him said, "What a fine tree!"
and towards
Christmas
he was one of the first that was cut down. The axe struck deep into
the
very pith; the Tree fell to the earth with a sigh; he felt a pang--it
was
like
a swoon; he could not think of happiness, for he was sorrowful at
being
separated
from his home, from the place where he had sprung up. He well knew
that
he should never see his dear old comrades, the little bushes and
flowers
around
him, anymore; perhaps not even the birds! The departure was not at
all
agreeable.

The
Tree only came to himself when he was unloaded in a court-yard with
the
other
trees, and heard a man say, "That one is splendid! We don't want
the
others."
Then two servants came in rich livery and carried the Fir Tree into a
large
and splendid drawing-room. Portraits were hanging on the walls, and
near
the
white porcelain stove stood two large Chinese vases with lions on the
covers.
There, too, were large easy-chairs, silken sofas, large tables full
of
picture-books
and full of toys, worth hundreds and hundreds of crowns--at
least
the children said so. And the Fir Tree was stuck upright in a cask
that
was
filled with sand; but no one could see that it was a cask, for green
cloth
was
hung all round it, and it stood on a large gaily-colored carpet. Oh!
how
the
Tree quivered! What was to happen? The servants, as well as the young
ladies,
decorated it. On one branch there hung little nets cut out of colored
paper,
and each net was filled with sugarplums; and among the other boughs
gilded
apples and walnuts were suspended, looking as though they had grown
there,
and little blue and white tapers were placed among the leaves. Dolls
that
looked for all the world like men--the Tree had never beheld such
before--were
seen among the foliage, and at the very top a large star of gold
tinsel
was fixed. It was really splendid--beyond description splendid.

"This
evening!" they all said. "How it will shine this evening!"

"Oh!"
thought the Tree. "If the evening were but come! If the tapers
were but
lighted!
And then I wonder what will happen! Perhaps the other trees from the
forest
will come to look at me! Perhaps the sparrows will beat against the
windowpanes!
I wonder if I shall take root here, and winter and summer stand
covered
with ornaments!"

He
knew very much about the matter--but he was so impatient that for
sheer
longing
he got a pain in his back, and this with trees is the same thing as a
headache
with us.

The
candles were now lighted--what brightness! What splendor! The Tree
trembled
so in every bough that one of the tapers set fire to the foliage. It
blazed
up famously.

"Help!
Help!" cried the young ladies, and they quickly put out the
fire.

Now
the Tree did not even dare tremble. What a state he was in! He was so
uneasy
lest he should lose something of his splendor, that he was quite
bewildered
amidst the glare and brightness; when suddenly both folding-doors
opened
and a troop of children rushed in as if they would upset the Tree.
The
older
persons followed quietly; the little ones stood quite still. But it
was
only
for a moment; then they shouted that the whole place re-echoed with
their
rejoicing;
they danced round the Tree, and one present after the other was
pulled
off.

"What
are they about?" thought the Tree. "What is to happen now!"
And the
lights
burned down to the very branches, and as they burned down they were
put
out
one after the other, and then the children had permission to plunder
the
Tree.
So they fell upon it with such violence that all its branches
cracked;
if
it had not been fixed firmly in the ground, it would certainly have
tumbled
down.

The
children danced about with their beautiful playthings; no one looked
at
the
Tree except the old nurse, who peeped between the branches; but it
was
only
to see if there was a fig or an apple left that had been forgotten.

"A
story! A story!" cried the children, drawing a little fat man
towards the
Tree.
He seated himself under it and said, "Now we are in the shade,
and the
Tree
can listen too. But I shall tell only one story. Now which will you
have;
that
about Ivedy-Avedy, or about Humpy-Dumpy, who tumbled downstairs, and
yet
after
all came to the throne and married the princess?"

"Ivedy-Avedy,"
cried some; "Humpy-Dumpy," cried the others. There was such
a
bawling
and screaming--the Fir Tree alone was silent, and he thought to
himself,
"Am I not to bawl with the rest? Am I to do nothing whatever?"
for he
was
one of the company, and had done what he had to do.

And
the man told about Humpy-Dumpy that tumbled down, who notwithstanding
came
to
the throne, and at last married the princess. And the children
clapped
their
hands, and cried. "Oh, go on! Do go on!" They wanted to
hear about
Ivedy-Avedy
too, but the little man only told them about Humpy-Dumpy. The Fir
Tree
stood quite still and absorbed in thought; the birds in the wood had
never
related the like of this. "Humpy-Dumpy fell downstairs, and yet
he
married
the princess! Yes, yes! That's the way of the world!" thought
the Fir
Tree,
and believed it all, because the man who told the story was so
good-looking.
"Well, well! who knows, perhaps I may fall downstairs, too, and
get
a princess as wife!" And he looked forward with joy to the
morrow, when
he
hoped to be decked out again with lights, playthings, fruits, and
tinsel.

"I
won't tremble to-morrow!" thought the Fir Tree. "I will
enjoy to the full
all
my splendor! To-morrow I shall hear again the story of Humpy-Dumpy,
and
perhaps
that of Ivedy-Avedy too." And the whole night the Tree stood
still and
in
deep thought.

In
the morning the servant and the housemaid came in.

"Now
then the splendor will begin again," thought the Fir. But they
dragged
him
out of the room, and up the stairs into the loft: and here, in a dark
corner,
where no daylight could enter, they left him. "What's the
meaning of
this?"
thought the Tree. "What am I to do here? What shall I hear now,
I
wonder?"
And he leaned against the wall lost in reverie. Time enough had he
too
for his reflections; for days and nights passed on, and nobody came
up;
and
when at last somebody did come, it was only to put some great trunks
in a
corner,
out of the way. There stood the Tree quite hidden; it seemed as if he
had
been entirely forgotten.

"'Tis
now winter out-of-doors!" thought the Tree. "The earth is
hard and
covered
with snow; men cannot plant me now, and therefore I have been put up
here
under shelter till the spring-time comes! How thoughtful that is! How
kind
man is, after all! If it only were not so dark here, and so terribly
lonely!
Not even a hare! And out in the woods it was so pleasant, when the
snow
was on the ground, and the hare leaped by; yes--even when he jumped
over
me;
but I did not like it then! It is really terribly lonely here!"

"Squeak!
Squeak!" said a little Mouse, at the same moment, peeping out of
his
hole.
And then another little one came. They snuffed about the Fir Tree,
and
rustled
among the branches.

"It
is dreadfully cold," said the Mouse. "But for that, it
would be delightful
here,
old Fir, wouldn't it?"

"I
am by no means old," said the Fir Tree. "There's many a one
considerably
older
than I am."

"Where
do you come from," asked the Mice; "and what can you do?"
They were so
extremely
curious. "Tell us about the most beautiful spot on the earth.
Have
you
never been there? Were you never in the larder, where cheeses lie on
the
shelves,
and hams hang from above; where one dances about on tallow candles:
that
place where one enters lean, and comes out again fat and portly?"

"I
know no such place," said the Tree. "But I know the wood,
where the sun
shines
and where the little birds sing." And then he told all about his
youth;
and
the little Mice had never heard the like before; and they listened
and
said,

"Well,
to be sure! How much you have seen! How happy you must have been!"

"I!"
said the Fir Tree, thinking over what he had himself related. "Yes,
in
reality
those were happy times." And then he told about Christmas-eve,
when he
was
decked out with cakes and candles.

"Oh,"
said the little Mice, "how fortunate you have been, old Fir
Tree!"

"I
am by no means old," said he. "I came from the wood this
winter; I am in my
prime,
and am only rather short for my age."

"What
delightful stories you know," said the Mice: and the next night
they
came
with four other little Mice, who were to hear what the Tree
recounted:
and
the more he related, the more he remembered himself; and it appeared
as if
those
times had really been happy times. "But they may still
come--they may
still
come! Humpy-Dumpy fell downstairs, and yet he got a princess!"
and he
thought
at the moment of a nice little Birch Tree growing out in the woods:
to
the
Fir, that would be a real charming princess.

"Who
is Humpy-Dumpy?" asked the Mice. So then the Fir Tree told the
whole
fairy
tale, for he could remember every single word of it; and the little
Mice
jumped
for joy up to the very top of the Tree. Next night two more Mice
came,
and
on Sunday two Rats even; but they said the stories were not
interesting,
which
vexed the little Mice; and they, too, now began to think them not so
very
amusing either.

"Do
you know only one story?" asked the Rats.

"Only
that one," answered the Tree. "I heard it on my happiest
evening; but I
did
not then know how happy I was."

"It
is a very stupid story! Don't you know one about bacon and tallow
candles?
Can't
you tell any larder stories?"

"No,"
said the Tree.

"Then
good-bye," said the Rats; and they went home.

At
last the little Mice stayed away also; and the Tree sighed: "After
all, it
was
very pleasant when the sleek little Mice sat round me, and listened
to
what
I told them. Now that too is over. But I will take good care to enjoy
myself
when I am brought out again."

But
when was that to be? Why, one morning there came a quantity of people
and
set
to work in the loft. The trunks were moved, the tree was pulled out
and
thrown--rather
hard, it is true--down on the floor, but a man drew him towards
the
stairs, where the daylight shone.

"Now
a merry life will begin again," thought the Tree. He felt the
fresh air,
the
first sunbeam--and now he was out in the courtyard. All passed so
quickly,
there
was so much going on around him, the Tree quite forgot to look to
himself.
The court adjoined a garden, and all was in flower; the roses hung so
fresh
and odorous over the balustrade, the lindens were in blossom, the
Swallows
flew by, and said, "Quirre-vit! My husband is come!" but it
was not
the
Fir Tree that they meant.

"Now,
then, I shall really enjoy life," said he exultingly, and spread
out his
branches;
but, alas, they were all withered and yellow! It was in a corner
that
he lay, among weeds and nettles. The golden star of tinsel was still
on
the
top of the Tree, and glittered in the sunshine.

In
the court-yard some of the merry children were playing who had danced
at
Christmas
round the Fir Tree, and were so glad at the sight of him. One of the
youngest
ran and tore off the golden star.

"Only
look what is still on the ugly old Christmas tree!" said he,
trampling
on
the branches, so that they all cracked beneath his feet.

And
the Tree beheld all the beauty of the flowers, and the freshness in
the
garden;
he beheld himself, and wished he had remained in his dark corner in
the
loft; he thought of his first youth in the wood, of the merry
Christmas-eve,
and of the little Mice who had listened with so much pleasure
to
the story of Humpy-Dumpy.

"'Tis
over--'tis past!" said the poor Tree. "Had I but rejoiced
when I had
reason
to do so! But now 'tis past, 'tis past!"

And
the gardener's boy chopped the Tree into small pieces; there was a
whole
heap
lying there. The wood flamed up splendidly under the large brewing
copper,
and it sighed so deeply! Each sigh was like a shot.

The
boys played about in the court, and the youngest wore the gold star
on his
breast
which the Tree had had on the happiest evening of his life. However,
that
was over now--the Tree gone, the story at an end. All, all was
over--every
tale must end at last.